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Flaming June

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<h3>Chapter Twenty Three.</h3> For a whole week the battle raged; the battle between youth and age, love and the world. Elma pleaded for patience and self-restraint, Geoffrey urged defiance and independence; Mrs Ramsden quoted Scripture, and made constant reference to serpents’ teeth, while Madame remained charmingly satirical, refusing to treat the matter otherwise than as a joke, laughing at Geoffrey’s rhapsodies, and assuring him that he was suffering from an attack of sun, from which recovery would be swift and certain. Rupert Guest and Cornelia hurried to and fro on the outskirts of the fray, in the character of aides-de-camp carrying messages, and administering encouragement and consolation. Every morning Cornelia sat in conclave with her friend in the prosaic Victorian drawing-room which took the place of the turret chamber of romance. Elma would not condescend to hold stolen interviews with her lover, while both families so strongly opposed the engagement, so she shut herself up in the house, growing daily whiter and thinner, wandering aimlessly from room to room, and crying helplessly upon her bed. It was as a breath of fresh mountain air when Cornelia appeared upon the scene, bearing always the same terse, practical advice—“Make sure of your own mind, and—stick to it!” The colour came back to Elma’s face as she listened, and hope revived in her heart. She declared anew that nothing in the world should separate her from Geoffrey; that she would be true to him to the last day of her life. Cornelia repeated these touching vows in conclave with Guest behind the shrubbery of the Park, and then he went off post-haste to the Manor, to cheer Geoffrey with the news of the steadfast loyalty of his fiancée. Second-hand assurances soon pall, however, on the youthful lover, and after a week had passed by, Geoffrey suddenly waxed desperate, and announced that he would not submit to the separation for another hour. He was perfectly capable of choosing his own wife, Elma was of age, and at liberty to decide for herself. He would go down to The Holt that very afternoon and have it out with the old lady, once for all. If his mother liked to accompany him, so much the better. She and Mrs Ramsden could each have their say, and then he and Elma would have theirs. For his part he warned them that no arguments could move him from his point, but they might see what they would do with Elma! Perhaps they could persuade Elma to give him up! He smiled as he spoke, in proud, self-confident fashion, but Madame looked at him thoughtfully, smoothed the ruffles on her sleeves, and replied in her sweetest tones— “Dear boy, yes! quite a good idea. Let us talk it over like sensible people. Elma has such truly nice feelings.—I feel sure we may trust her decision!” Geoffrey sat him down forthwith to indite a letter to his love, warning her of the ordeal ahead in a couple of lines, and enlarging on his own devotion for the rest of the sheet, which missive was entrusted to Guest when he paid his daily visit to the Manor. “I mean to put an end to this nonsense, once for all,” the Squire declared firmly. “You must be sick of trotting to and fro with these everlasting messages, but there won’t be any more need for them after to-day.” Guest expressed his gratification, and started forth on his return journey profoundly depressed in spirit. With the end of the strife would end his daily meetings with Cornelia, which alone kept him in Norton. Miss Briskett’s attitude on the occasion of his one call at The Nook had not encouraged him to repeat the experiment. He smiled to himself whenever he recalled the picture of the heavily-furnished room, the sharp-faced spinster, with her stiff, repellent manner, and the slim figure of Cornelia sitting demurely in the background, drooping her eyes to the ground whenever her aunt looked in her direction, and wrinkling her nose at him in pert little grimaces when the good lady’s back was turned, so that he had had hard work to preserve his gravity. Since that evening they had met daily in the shrubbery of the Park, though only for a few minutes at a time, for Cornelia steadily refused to sit down, or to linger by his side in a manner which would suggest that the assignation was on her behalf, as well as that of her friend. Guest was always the first to arrive at the meeting-place, and was careful to remain standing in a position from which he could watch the girl’s approach. In these bright summer days Cornelia was invariably dressed in white, her short skirts standing out above her feet in a manner peculiar to herself, and the fashion plates. She wore shady hats which dipped over her face, and curved upward at the sides, showing the burnished waves of her wonderful hair. At first sight she gave the impression of looking pale and ill, but invariably by the time she reached his side, her cheeks were pink, and he forgot his anxiety in delight and admiration. To-day his manner was less buoyant than usual, as he delivered the note into her hands. “An ultimatum at last! Geoffrey and Madame propose to storm the citadel this afternoon. Quite time, too! I wonder he has waited so long. I should have come to blows on the second day. ... Fancy hanging about a whole week when a girl like that was waiting to see you!” Cornelia turned the letter round and round, staring at it the while with absent eyes. “You used to say that he would never marry her ... that she was not a suitable wife ... that it would be a great mistake if he did...” “I used to say a great many foolish things,” said Guest, quietly. “I didn’t know what I was talking about, you see. Now I do! If she is the woman he loves, all the little differences go for nothing. I hope he will marry her, and I believe that they will be happy—” Cornelia twirled to and fro on the heels of her pointed shoes, and tilted her chin with a pretence at indifference. “Well! I guess it won’t help things on if I hang about gossiping here. She ought to have this letter at once, to think out what she’s going to say. Poor little Elma! She’ll have a rough time with those two mammas firing away at her at the same time. Mrs Ramsden will plump for principle, and Madame for convention. It doesn’t seem to either of them that love is enough! They both believe they know a heap better what’s good for the young people than they do themselves. And they’ve been through it! You can’t get away from that. ... They’ve been through it, and away at the other end they are going to do all they know to prevent their own son and their own daughter from the folly of marrying for love!...” “People—some people—seem to keep no memory of youth in middle age! It’s a pity, for it destroys their influence. In the end, however, it is the young people who decide. ... These two ought to know their own minds, for it has not been a hurried affair. They have known each other for years, and have been more and more attracted. That is a duty which a man and a woman owe to each other in these circumstances—to make sure that what they are offering is real and lasting! I suppose only time can prove this. ... We shall see what this afternoon brings forth. In any case I am needed no longer.—I thought of going north to-morrow morning to pay a couple of visits.” The hand that was playing with the letter was still for a moment, and an almost imperceptible quiver straightened the white figure. For a moment Guest saw, or imagined that he saw, a shadow flit across the girl’s face, but it passed as quickly as it came. She tilted her head, and said calmly— “I guess you’re right! We’ve done our turn, and now they’ve got to fend for themselves. I hope you’ll have a real good time. ... Mr Greville will let you know when the wedding’s fixed!” “Oh, I shall be back at the end of three or four weeks, before there’s any talk of dates, I expect! I shall see you again in July.” He paused, looking at her with sudden uneasy suspicion. “You will be here in July? There is no chance that you may be away paying other visits?” Cornelia shook her head. “I have no other relations over here. So far as I know at present, I shall stay on here until Poppar comes over to fetch me. We’re going to fly round together for two or three months after that.” Guest drew a sigh of relief, but as he took Cornelia’s outstretched hand in his own to say good-bye, he added a hesitating request— “If for any unexpected reason you should be leaving Norton during the next three or four weeks, will you let me know? A line to my club will always be forwarded. If there were any uncertainty about seeing you again, I—” his voice lost its level tone, and became husky and disconnected. “These visits don’t matter.—I could put them off.—I am making myself go, because...” His fingers tightened over hers in involuntary appeal, “Cornelia! I wonder if you understand what is in my mind?” She looked into his kindled face with serious, unwavering eyes. For a moment it appeared as if she had some difficulty in managing her voice, but when she spoke it was calm and self-possessed as ever. “I understand that you’ve been a real true friend to me, Captain Guest, and I’m grateful for all the good times we’ve had together... That’s all we need worry about to-day. Elma is waiting! I mustn’t keep her longer. ... Good-bye again! I wish you a real pleasant time!” She drew her hand from his, gently enough, yet with a determination which could not be opposed. In her voice there was the same note of finality; the composure of her pale, fixed look checked the words on Guest’s lips, and left him chilled and wondering. “For three weeks, then!” he murmured softly, but no echoing assurance came in reply. Cornelia carried the all-important message to Elma in her den, cheered her with affectionate prophecies, and hurried back to the shelter of her own bedroom. Safe behind locked doors she stood before the mirror on her dressing-table, staring at her own reflection with the implacable air of a judge regarding a prisoner at the bar. The slight figure was held proudly erect, the lips set in a straight, hard line, but the eyes—poor tell-tale woman’s eyes!—the eyes wavered, and on the white cheeks flamed two patches of rosy red. Cornelia turned on her heel, and, crossing the room to her writing-table, tore open a letter which lay there already addressed to her father in America. It was a long, cheerfully-written epistle, containing constant references to his coming, and to the good time which they were to enjoy together. With deliberate fingers she tore it in pieces and dropped the fragments into the waste-paper basket. The missive, which was written in its stead was short, and to the point— <blockquote> “My old Poppar!—This is just a business note that has got to be attended to in a hurry. Well-brought-up-parents do what they’re told, and ask no questions. There are breakers ahead over here. They don’t concern Aunt Soph; I’ve broken the back of that worry, and we get along a treat. Heart trouble, daddy! Symptoms unfavourable, and ultimate collapse preventable only by speedy change of scene. “Sit down straight away and write a letter I can show round, summoning me home by the first boat! You can call it an ‘urgent crisis.’ It’s as true as taxes, though not in the way they take it. I’ve got to run, and that’s all there is to it. Our jaunt must wait till another day. You must comfort me, Poppar,—you and America!—Your lonesome, Cornelia.” </blockquote> She did not pause to read over what she had written, but, fastening it in an envelope, pealed the bell, which brought Mary running blithely to her service. For once, however, the devoted slave ventured to raise a feeble objection. “Now, Miss Cornelia? I’m in the middle of my silver. It will go just as soon if it’s posted by half-past three!” Cornelia glanced at her with the air of an offended goddess. “I said now, and I mean now! This instant, before you touch another one thing. Post it with your own hands, and come up here to tell me it’s done!” Mary vanished in a whirl of starched cotton skirts, rushed to the pillar-box at the corner of the Park, and in five minutes’ time was back at the bedroom door to proclaim her obedience. Cornelia was still standing in the middle of the room. It appeared to the maid that she had not altered her position by as much as an inch since she had seen her last. Her expression was tense with expectation. “It’s gone, miss! I put it in myself!” The golden eyes regarded her strangely. “Did you, Mury?” said Cornelia, low. She paused a moment as though to form some expression of acknowledgment, but it did not come. “Some time,” she continued slowly, “some time, Mury, I believe I’m going to thank you very much, but to-day I don’t feel like gushing. ... You can go back to your work.” <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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